JUST A KID

		     by Robert Austin

He's not naive as much as inexperienced, not innocent as much as young. His intellect is both inquisitive and intuitive. In his sixteen years of life, he's come further in accepting his sexuality than many men I know twice his age. Sure, he still hides it from his family. Many of his friends don't know either. But he knows and that's most important.

His first taste of the gay community comes in the form of after-hours dancing at a local bar and through this group of teens that meet each week to share their troubles in living as they are. Now he eagerly anticipates his twenty-first birthday when he can truly join the tribe at the bar's regular hours. He thinks the gay world will unveil itself in glorious splendor, nearly certain he'll find a new happiness and acceptance there. Of course he's set up for some disappointment, just like when, as a child, he spent his hard-saved pennies for that special new toy, only to find it's cheaply made and breaks the first day. Life will teach him this lesson many times, in many forms, so I don't say anything.

At thirty-one, I'm the oldest gay person he knows, and thirty seen through teenage eyes is half a life away. He gives this some deep thought, projecting himself into the future of his own life. "I'd like to be settled down by that time," he says matter of factly. He wants a lover, a house, friends, and a good job. And he wants to have children. "I can't imagine getting that old without having kids, and grandkids," he says.

I roll my eyes. For him to have grandchildren at my age he would already need to be changing diapers, but I let it go. I feel old enough as it is. "So you think you'd like to have kids someday?"

"I'd love to have kids," he says, "but I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm gay," he says, exasperated that I could be so dense. "I can't change that."

He's right. That can't be changed. "No," I say, "If you break your arm, it is broken. You can't unbreak it."

He gives this some thought. Then with that same exasperated look, "But a broken arm can be fixed."

"Yes, some people say the same thing about being gay. But a fixed broken arm, like the 'fixed' gay person, is never the same. The evidence will always be there: that dull ache when the weather changes, never as strong, never as good. In any case, it has nothing to do with having kids."

"It doesn't?"

I take a mentoring posture, determined to sling an arrow of truth in the direction of this misled child. "You'll find far too many people in this world willing to write you off because you're gay. Don't you dare do it as well. Of course you can be a parent. It may be a little more difficult, and potentially much more expensive, but there's no reason why you should assume it cannot be done."

He just stares at me.

I continue: "What you are at any age, my friend, is what you make yourself. Don't let your 'gayness' stop you. It can be done, has been done, and is now being done."

He still stares at me wide-eyed.

"Even better," I add, "you needn't get a child in the conventional way!" This last point elicited a huge grin.

"Well, then how am I gonna have a kid?"

"You do know where babies come from, don't you?"

He smirks. "Of course. That's my point."

"You've heard of adoption?"

"Can gay people adopt?"

"If they have the money."

"So I have to be rich." There's defeat in his voice.

"It helps."

"Guess I'll have to go to college for sure then."

"Precisely," I say. But then I remind him that a diploma doesn't come with a written guarantee. "Maybe a friend will carry a baby for you. Maybe you'll find a lover who already has a kid. People come into this world by the same path, but the scenery around that path is never the same for everyone."

He gives all this some thought. "Isn't it illegal in some places?"

"I don't know. Besides, nothing is permanant."

"Yeah, I guess." He kicks at the carpet. "You know, lots of people think it's not right."

"But what do you think?"

"I think they might be right," he says. "I think it might not be fair. After all, lots of people will hate me just for being gay. Why put that over on a kid?"

Indeed. He's spoken a mouthful of profound truth and irony. He's just a kid himself.

"You know," he adds, "when I think about it, the world's not a very good place for children."

"When was it ever?" I ask. I know by the look on his face that he doesn't have the answer.

"Well," he says with a sentiment even Pat Robertson could admire, "I wouldn't have a kid unless I was sure I could give it everything I never had."

I smile at him. "And isn't that exactly why you should be a parent?" The rhetorical question eludes him, but the point is made nonetheless.

He knows who and what he is. The vile epithets hurled by his straight peers no longer pierce his sense of self, no longer cause him pain. He knows that there is a community that he's not fully seen. And he looks forward to seeing it because he knows his life will be built upon it. It's a noble and admirable thing that one so young has come so far in accepting his life as it is. It's quite another, more frightening, thing to unquestioningly accept societal taboos and prohibitions along with it. In time he would have seen for himself that gay people indeed can be, and are, parents. But even five years is a long time having never trod a path to happiness because you think it's forbidden. If he thinks now that he can't be a parent, then will he live his life preparing to be the kind of parent he envisions? Indeed, what other things have been planted in this young mind that will only serve to limit his tenacity in living?

I think on my own coming of age, my own acceptance of being gay. Did I live my life differently because I thought society required it? Did I fail to plan my life for certain things because I thought I couldn't have them? I'm not sure. But this I know: nowhere along the way did anyone older than I point out the difference between what I thought the world was like, and what it really was. Perhaps none of us had that. Maybe that's what living life is all about. But this too I know: nowhere is it written "thou shalt not question." But that is the unwritten commandment he thinks controls his destiny. Just like us before him, his decisions will be his own. And, just like us before him, his decisions will take place within a crucible where mistakes are not only possible, but probable. Nothing is permanant, and change often begins when questions are asked. Who's to say what twists and turns the law and society will take between now and the time he's ready for parenthood? There are no guarantees. But dreams should not be quashed by what may one day come. And I tell him as much.

Then my young friend says to me, "So if you say it's okay to be gay and have kids, then how come you don't have any?"

It's a good question. I tell him that I've had lovers, and sometimes that's a lot like having a kid. But life will teach him that lesson in due time.

1996 by Robert L Austin

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